In Summer’s heat, I long for Winter’s frost.
In Autumn, Spring’s bright greens will beckon me –
Spring comes and melts the snow and I am lost
In deepest dreams of Summer’s reverie.
So, never in contentment with the season,
I miss the beauties here before my eyes,
Nor can I, with good sense or wit or reason,
See the wonder that before me lies.
Missing thus each immediate offer
Of the current season’s generous light –
With my mind on what will next be proffered,
I might just as well be robbed of sight.
Only you – your face, your touch, your voice –
Can make the present moment my first choice.